The Places I've Cried in Public by Holly Bourne

That is one of the Big Ifs I’ve been turning over.
What if I had told Alfie I loved him? What if I hadn’t
deleted that truth? What if I’d gone with my gut
instinct, the primal part of me that typed out the
words I love you – even though we had that stupid
agreement? If I’d sent that first message, would it
have stopped what came afterwards?
I will never know.
Because I didn’t tell Alfie I loved him. I only told
him I missed him. I pressed send and watched one
tick turn into two ticks. Then I put my phone back
into my bag and ran to the media block.
If you’re shy, trust me when I say there’s nothing worse than entering a
room late. I opened the door to D24 in a flustered sweaty heap and
everyone turned around like meerkats. I tugged at my denim jacket as my
rash bloomed further across my body.
“Sorry I’m late,” I stuttered to my new form tutor.
“Don’t worry. You’re not even the last to arrive. Lots of you get lost on
the first day.” He gestured to an empty chair in the circle. I sank into it and
avoided eye contact with the people sat opposite. “As I was saying,” he
continued, “my name’s Alistair and I’m your form tutor for the next two
years.” He looked young, with ginger hair and a pink shirt. “You’re lucky,
I’m pretty damn awesome.”
The circle laughed self-consciously and I looked up to take everyone in.
I just KNEW they’d all spent ages picking out today’s this-is-me outfit and
the room reeked of trying-too-hard. One guy sitting opposite had a political
slogan emblazoned across his chest and held a leather-bound journal so we
knew he Cared About The World and Wrote Things In This Special Journal.